


Staring At The Sun

by DethKat



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Blindness, Drama, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DethKat/pseuds/DethKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Metalocalypse Fanfic.  Follows the story "Out of Darkness".  In "Staring At The Sun", Charles continues to adapt to blindness, while negotiating a new relationship with Nathan, and finding himself headed for adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Staring At The Sun... A Metalocalypse Fanfic

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small and Tommy Blacha are gods. 
> 
> Gratitude: Thanks to my lovely Beta (and sis) YvetteDel, as well as everyone who is reading and enjoying this!! <3 u all!!
> 
> Notes: This story is a direct continuation of another story called "Out of Darkness", and part of what hopefully will end up being a trilogy. "Out of Darkness" explains a few things such as how Charles went blind and subsequently found himself in a relationship with Nathan.
> 
> Warnings: Some strong language… but seriously, it's Metalocalypse, what did you expect? 
> 
> This story contains a slash pairing (Charles/Nathan) which had just been established at the end of the previous story.
> 
> ***********

_Charles Ofdensen gazed at the sky. It was one of those days where all the clouds were full and perfectly formed. He was standing in a field, the tall grass rising almost to his waist, and just above the knees of the man who stood next to him. The stood close, but there was an unspoken distance between them- a distance that seemed unnatural for father and son. Young Charles focused hard on the clouds, which were slowly drifting, and shifting into new, yet still perfect, forms. Gradually a brilliant light was being revealed from behind the shapes and as it came further into view the child found himself drawn to it. His eyes widened even as he half-heard his father’s stern voice, “Charlie, don’t stare at the sun or you’ll go blind!” But the warning couldn’t make him tear his eyes away from the brilliant glow- the brightest thing he had ever seen. He stood, transfixed, as the light entered his eyes, filling his sockets, and penetrating his brain. He saw like he had never seen before- an impossibly bright white, containing faint traces of every color imaginable. The light grew brighter and brighter until it was more than a vision, it was a hot knife, slicing painfully through his head. But the pain lessened as the sea of light enveloped him, growing brighter, and impossibly, brighter still, until…._

His eyes shot open, as he gasped for air. He lay there catching his breath and feeling oddly comforted by the darkness he knew would not leave him. As his mind recovered from the strange dream, he registered the heavily breathing body next to him, and snuggled in closer to Nathan Explosion. He inhaled deeply and exalted in his companion’s musky scent. Staring at the ceiling of his room and seeing nothing but memories playing in his mind, Charles smiled broadly. 

************** 

After encouragement from both Abigail and Pickles, Charles was confident that any advances he made towards Nathan would be well-received. But finding out that Dethklok was now unable to perform their scheduled press-concert had taken a big toll on his confidence, as well as his mood. When Nathan lingered after the rest of the band has left the conference room, Charles had been ready to send him away, telling himself that he just wanted to be alone. And why shouldn’t he? He was used to being alone. Even in the few months since he had lost his sight, he was making strides regaining his independence and relying less on help from others. And now, after finding out that the boys’ fooling around had lead to Pickles being stabbed in the hand, he was feeling like he couldn’t rely on anyone anymore. 

“Look,” Nathan said from his place at the table, intruding on Charles’s self-pity. “I know what this concert was for you, okay. I’m gonna make this right.” 

“Really,” Charles replied skeptically. _What are you going to do, Nathan?_ Charles thought bitterly, as he stood up and turned away from the singer. _Good luck convincing the Associated Press that everything’s fine while your drummer can’t hold a drumstick._ Charles was aware that Nathan had gotten up and was approaching him. Soon he felt a hand on his shoulder steer him back around until he was facing Nathan. Charles tensed up to shrug the singer away but Nathan kept a firm hold and quietly spoke. 

“We can’t do the concert, but we can do something even better. I was talking to everyone before you came in about this and we decided… we’re gonna make a new album. We’ll announce it at what would have been the concert. Everyone will know that Dethklok, all of Dethklok, is back!” 

To emphasize what he meant by “all” he gently squeezed Charles’s shoulder, but the manager was not yet impressed. “And what did the others have to say about this?” Charles asked skeptically. He knew what it was like to try and get the band to work on an album when one was actually due. A spontaneous album was somewhat of a miracle, and Charles did not believe in miracles. 

“Some of them needed a little convincing, but they’re all for it now. And I didn’t even have to threaten them.” 

How Charles would have liked to be a fly on the wall during that conversation! Or perhaps, once again, he had underestimated his band. He had certainly underestimated Nathan. A small smile permeated his serious features. 

“What?” Nathan asked, regarding the change in Charles’s expression. 

“It’s just that… you never cease to amaze me.” Charles felt his frustration start to melt with the hope the younger man had so casually given him. There was no question about the truth of the statement. He knew that if Nathan said he had done it, he had done it.“You convinced the band to do a whole new album? Do you know what it’s like to try and get you guys to even show up for practice?? You amaze me, Nathan.” 

Charles lightly gasped as the singer’s fingers started to caress the back of his neck, ever so softly. 

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Nathan replied soothingly. Charles felt Nathan carefully removed his glasses. Then, as he took hold of Charles’s hand and gently lifted it until the manager’s deft fingers brushed against his smiling face, he whispered, “I want you to _see_ how you make _me_ feel.” 

************* 

Charles flushed as he remembered Nathan’s whispered words, the sensitivity behind them, and the kisses that had followed. He rolled onto his side, and propped himself up on an elbow facing his companion. He longed to watch Nathan as he slept, and wondered if he wore an expression denoting the same peace and contentment that Charles now felt. He focused again on the steady sound of Nathan’s breathing, and gently moved to caress his slightly stubbled cheek, recalling how he had become well-acquainted with the singer’s bold features the evening before. 

************* 

_Out of Darkness._ Nathan had revealed the new album title in between tender exploratory moments. Charles could hear the pride in his voice, and he pulled the singer in for another kiss. This time it was gloriously unrestrained. Charles knew there were a variety of meanings the title could take on, the most true to the band being a reference to all the brutality that darkness could hold, but to him, at this moment, it spoke of the connections he had gained as he dealt with the loss of his vision. As the two pulled apart he whispered breathlessly into Nathan’s ear, “Out of Darkness… Comes Light.”  As if he understood exactly what his manager meant, Nathan cradled Charles’s head against his shoulder, and the two stood, embracing, for a long moment. Charles was pulled back to the conference room as he heard the heavy door creak open. 

“Good news guys," Pickles's voice permiated the room.  "According to the doctors I’m not dying this time… Oh!! Well hey there! Uh, sorry to, uh, interrupt… We’ll , uh, we’ll just be goin’ now…”  

His body still being cradled against a shocked Nathan, Charles heard Pickles loudly whisper, “Right on!”, but wasn’t sure who he was directing it to. 

“Thicsh better be conshcentual…” Murderface added in a mildly threatening tone, obviously resuming his “protective” role. 

Sensing that Nathan was at a loss for words Charles cut in. “Ah, I promise not to force myself on him.” Pickles giggled. The boys had no idea that Charles was actually more than capable of overpowering the much larger man if he wanted to. 

“Yeah, what he said. So fuck off you two!” Nathan growled, as he drew Charles closer again. 

“Done!” he heard Pickles exclaim, as the two intruders shuffled out the door. Just as the door was supposed to close Pickles called out, “Oh, hey, do you want your tie back? It was already red so the blood stains don’t show that much.” 

“What? No!” Charles yelled back, recalling how his tie had been used as a bandage for Pickles’s bleeding hand. 

“Can I keep it?” Muderface asked, adding, “It’s brutal!” 

“NO!” Nathan yelled back. And with that the intruders left and the two were alone together again. “Oh my god, I thought they’d never go away!” Nathan breathed. Chares had to smile at Nathan’s impatience, as the interruption had only been a few minute long. But he too was glad to be alone with the singer again. 

“How did his hand look?” Charles couldn’t help but be drawn back into his manager mind-set by the interruption. “Bandaged, but clean… I mean no blood. Really? We’re going to talk about Pickles hand now?” 

“No, no, I, ah, just had to know that’s all. Speaking of blood though, did he really bleed all over the place, because we might want to, ah, relocate, if that’s the case…” 

“Well, there’s kind of a trail of blood leading here from the door, just drops, and some on the table… It’s starting to coagulate…” “Well then let’s take this somewhere else, shall we? I’ll have someone come clean up here.” “We could just leave it, it’s pretty brutal…” 

“What? No! Pickles’s blood stains cannot remain in the conference room!” Then, more gently, he added, “Health codes, you know. By the way, why wouldn’t you let Murderface keep my tie?” 

“Were _you_ gonna let him keep it? He might do voodoo on you one day or something! Besides if anyone gets to keep a piece of your clothing it should be me…” 

“Well then I will get you a clean tie one of these days, and you can do whatever you want with it.” There was an unusual pause, but before Charles could ask about it, Nathan continued. 

“Do I have the same permission when it comes to the wearer?” 

“We’ll see…” Charles smiled back as he swept along the edge of the table with both hands, locating the folded cane but not the glasses. 

“They’re down here,” Nathan started, and Charles could tell he was bending over to pick something up off the ground. “I guess we knocked them off the table.” Charles didn’t recall brushing up against the table, but his mind had definitely not been on his surroundings at the time. He felt Nathan place the glasses in his hand. Charles slipped them on and unfolded the black cane as 

Nathan leaned into him slightly. “So where are we going?” 

“Somewhere private. You’ll see.” Charles took hold of Nathan’s arm, more to lead him than to be lead, and started towards the door, straying to the side opposite of where Pickles normally sat, in hopes of avoiding stepping on any blood on the floor. They left the conference room and walked together until they came to the door of the Manager’s office. Charles located and activated the unlocking mechanism. 

“So… do you like have a mattress under your desk or something?” Nathan asked innocently.

Charles cracked a smile. He had often wondered about the popular perception of his living accommodations. “Have you ever thought about what’s behind that door at the end of the room there?” Charles pointed in the direction he was heading. 

“You live there? That’s crazy! I just figured it was where you kept extra lamps or something.” 

“Lamps that need a palm-clearance to access?” 

“Well, it’s not like I lost sleep thinking about it….” 

Charles smiled and turned back to Nathan. He reached out and retook Nathan’s arm, sliding his hand down until their fingers entwined. It was a gesture meant more to reinitiate physical contact than anything, and Charles pulled forward, leading Nathan the several feet he knew remained between where they were and the door. Reaching out with his free hand, Charles easily found the wall and the palm-clearance panel, and the door clicked open. Gesturing for Nathan to enter, he followed and closed the door behind them. Hanging the cane up on a hook by the door, he turned towards the open kitchen in his small suite. 

“Uh, did you always live in the Bat Cave or do you just like to deprive your guests of light now?” 

“Oh… right!” Charles exclaimed. “Switch is next to the door, on the left. Guess I have gotten out of the habit. Not that I actually have guests. I have to say, besides my housekeeping staff, you’re the first person to lay eyes on this place in… well, in a while. I hope it’s tidy.” 

He heard Nathan flick the switch and comment, “So this is where Charles Ofdensen lives."

“Indeed. Have a seat.” He gestured to the living room area that was adjoined to the kitchen, separated by a kitchen-island with bar stools on the off-side. 

“Can I get you a drink?” 

“Sure, whatever you’re having, as long as it’s got alcohol. Wait, do you want me to get it…” 

Charles could hear him get up off the couch. “No, sit, I’ve got it. I do this a lot you know.” 

But Nathan didn’t sit back down, instead he started to look around. “Is this a record player? That’s badass. Billie Holiday? Who’s he?” 

If he wasn’t in the middle of carefully pouring Brandy, Charles would have face-palmed until it left an imprint. His horror must have showed on his face. “Oh my god, Charles, relax, I’m just fucking with you! I know who she is. One of the most important Jazz singers of all time. She’s a legend."

“I’m impressed, Nathan. Do you want to turn it on?” But Nathan was already focused on other things. 

“Oh my god, do you play??” Nathan’s voice came excitedly from further across the room. 

“Do I play what? Oh, you must be referring to my baby. Yes, yes I do…” 

“This is a ’59 Les Paul! What a gorgeous guitar. You have to play me something!” 

“Well, take her down, very carefully, and we’ll see. There should be a step stool… somewhere around there.” The guitar was mounted in a glass display case and seemed to be the show-piece of the classically decorated living room. 

As he made his way over to the couch, a glass of brandy in one hand, and the other outstretched to guide him, Charles listened to the sounds of Nathan procuring the treasured guitar. He put the glass down on the coffee table and headed back for the second one. 

Upon returning, Nathan took the glass from Charles and pressed the guitar into his arms. It felt so good to hold this instrument again. Since his injury he had avoided taking it down from the wall-case, for fear of somehow dropping or damaging it… _her_. After tenderly running his fingers over the guitar Charles gingerly plucked a few cords and then launched into a soulful rendition of the solo from “All Along the Watchtower” complete with masterfully executed Hendrix-style slides. When he was done Nathan let out an exclamation, in between carefully small sips of brandy. 

“That was awesome, Charles! You didn’t miss a note!” “It’s, well, it’s a hobby. Feels so great to play her again though.” 

“Her.” He could tell Nathan thought this was cute. “So does she have a name?” 

“Sweet Lady Sadie”. 

“After a girlfriend?” “After a dog, actually”. 

“Nice. Never saw you as a dog person… or a Blues man!” 

“Who do you think hooked you guys up with ol’ Mashed Potato Johnson?” Charles gently handed the guitar back to Nathan and instructed him to find a folding stand that he knew was around somewhere, and stand her up in the corner, where she would be easier to access but hopefully hard to run into.   On his way back Nathan handed Charles his brandy glass. 

“Ever thought of getting a seeing-eye dog? You could get a bad-ass dog like a Doberman or something.” 

“It had occurred to me, briefly, but Mordhaus is no place for a dog.” And the way things go around here, he added silently, it would probably attack someone out of the blue, or get killed in a random accident. He didn’t need that. 

Nathan grunted a reply and tapped Charles’s glass. “Drink. You have some catching up to do.” 

“I’m just glad you didn’t spray yours all over my apartment!” 

“I learned from that experience, thank you very much. You should see me, I’m holding it right and everything.” 

“Bravo, we’ll be going to Brandy-tastings in no time.” 

“Cool, but Toki and Murderface cannot come, under any circumstances!! Remember that wine tasting…” 

“The one that got you guys outlawed from France for several months? Yes, I recall something about that. Okay then, no Toki or Murderface. Better yet, why not just the two of us?” 

“I like that.” Nathan reached in and slid Charles glasses up over his head. “I miss your amazing eyes.” 

Charles raised an eyebrow. “I miss them too.” 

“Oh god, I didn’t mean it like that… I just, I miss seeing them. They’re awesome, you know.” Nathan gently traced patterns along Charles’s temples, carefully avoiding the sonar devices, all the while presumably looking into Charles’s eyes. It made Charles uncomfortable, and he shifted his sightless gaze downward. 

“Here, let’s do this,"  the singer quickly. "Be right back.” Charles felt Nathan release him and heard him walk towards the door, followed by a soft click. 

“I just turned the lights out. Now we’re both the same. Wow, it is really dark in here.” 

“Blacker than the blackest night times infinity”, Charles grinned. 

“ _Motherfucking cock sucker_!” Charles simultaneously heard a loud crack and Nathan’s pained exclamation. “That was my fucking shin and your fucking coffee table! How do you do this? Are you covered in bruises??” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Charles asked playfully. “You just have to be careful… and if you run into something hard enough you tend to be more aware of where it is next time. Pain is a good teacher. But, here…” 

Charles reached out to Nathan and guided him around the coffee table and onto the couch, as he sat down himself, right next to Nathan. 

“Now, where were we… Oh, I believe we were gazing into each others’ eyes…” 

  


************


	2. Staring At The Sun... A Metalocalypse Fanfic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small and Tommy Blacha are gods. 
> 
> Apologies: Sorry it's a fairly short part. More to follow... sooon.... :)
> 
> Gratitude: Thanks to my lovely Beta (and sis) YvetteDel, as well as everyone who is reading and enjoying this!!   
> <3 u all!!
> 
> Notes: This story is a direct continuation of another story called "Out of Darkness", and part of what hopefully will end up being a trilogy. "Out of Darkness" explains a few things such as how Charles went blind and subsequently found himself in a relationship with Nathan.
> 
> Warnings: Some strong language… but seriously, it's Metalocalypse, what did you expect? ;) (Wink)  
> This story contains a slash pairing (Charles/Nathan) which had just been established at the end of the previous story.
> 
> Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! :) :) :)
> 
> ***********

Charles carefully leaned over and gave the sleeping singer a gentle kiss on the neck before sliding out of bed. He proceeded to throw on a pair of work-out pants and commence his pre-shower ritual of 100 push-ups on the exercise mat on the corner of his room. 

Though lost in thought and pleasant memories he still managed to keep a quiet verbal count, as was part of his routine. As he reached 100, he spun around and sat, catching his breath and feeling for the towel he knew was hanging from a hook nearby.

“Do you do this every day?” a gravelly voice asked from the bed.

“Oh, good morning Nathan… ah, how long have you been awake?”

“Since around 40. I have to say, that’s pretty brutal, but you kind of make it look easy. You’re really fit!”

Charles lay the towel down. So Nathan had been watching him for a while. Ordinarily it would have bothered him, to be watched while unaware, but he found he liked knowing that Nathan had been quietly observing him for the last 60 pushups. He couldn’t help it, however, when a hint of introversion crept into his voice.

“I, ah, I work out.” 

“No kidding!”

Charles got up and turned towards Nathan, who, judging from his voice, was still sitting on the bed.

“So you survived the night in a normal sized bed!” he teased the singer.

Nathan grunted an inaudible reply.

At some point in the previous evening they had made their way from couch to bed, still in the darkness of the un-lit apartment. Charles realized that Nathan must have switched on a light at some point this morning. He had forgotten that he still kept side lamps by the bed.

“What time is it?” Charles asked Nathan, though he could have just as easily asked his watch.

There was a pause as Nathan consulted his phone, which it took him a moment to find. “It’s like 5 am! This is ridiculous! How did we go to sleep so early last night?”

“Well, lack of light will, ah, mess with your perception of time like that. But, honestly, I think it had more to do with the, ah, host of physical activity that preceded our sleep…”

“Is that some kind of fucked up lawyer way of saying we got really tired from making out a lot?”

Charles had to stifle a laugh. “Yes, that’s exactly what it is.” It was true that they didn’t do much more than what would be considered “making out”… the time didn’t seem quite right yet for more. But what they did do, they did with an unbridled enthusiasm that certainly had lead to exhaustion! And it had been beautiful.

Charles heard Nathan get up and presumably switched on the main light.

“Oh my god, Charles, you are covered in bruises! What did you do??”

It took Charles a moment to realize what Nathan was talking about. His fingers pressed lightly over his torso. The dull ache had almost gone away, but apparently the color had not.

“I… ah… it’s… ah, it’s no big deal.” He started, awkwardly. He had hoped to forget about his stupid attempt at fighting the punching bag in his gym recently. It had been a test, one that, for some unknown reason, he thought he had a chance of succeeding at. It had not turned out how he’d hoped.

“Wait, did someone do that to you??” Charles could hear Nathan start to get worked up.

“No, not someone. Something, okay. Heavy punching bag. Thought I could still do it, turns out I can’t. Can we please drop it?” Feeling tension in his chest, he carefully but quickly made his way over to the walk-in closet across the room, and felt for a tee-shirt where he knew they should be and slipped it on. He wondered if he had any other lingering bruises that he wasn’t aware of, recalling that they seemed to peak in color when they no longer hurt.

“Damn. Do you want me to kick that punching bag’s ass?” Nathan asked.

“ No, I will do that, one of these days. Just took things too fast. Abigail warned me about that.”

He neglected to mention that after taking a bad hit from the body-sized bag, which was something he was very unaccustomed to doing, he had torn the bag down, slammed it on the ground and wailed on it until his anger and frustration dissipated to a numb lack of caring. 

“What’s your deal with Abigail, really?”

“Oh god Nathan, she has become a friend, nothing more. Besides, did she just wake up in my bed? I don’t think so.”

“Hmm, good point…” Nathan mused. 

“Her brother went blind some time ago, so she kind of gets this…”

“Oh. I didn’t know that. That sucks. I mean, that’s good that… I mean… whatever, you know what I mean. Fuck.”

Charles appreciated Nathan’s assumption. It was true… after all this time, most often no explanation was necessary. The frustration he expressed by the added curse didn’t go unnoticed either. Nathan just needed a patient listener when he communicated and Charles was happy to be that for him.

“I guess… Well, that’s kind of cool of her to show up then, actually.” Nathan seemed to contemplate this for a moment then, reverting to the previous subject, he added, “Hey, when you get good with the sonar you’ll be able to take out that asshole punching bag.”

“That’s the goal. Well, the first step towards the goal anyway.”

“You’ll do it. Today. Now. I’ll help.” Nathan said. It was more of a statement than an offer. Charles cocked his head slightly.

“I’d, ah, okay.” He had yet to get back to learning to use his sonar devices, after the previous time left him in the hospital. While he knew his physical therapist would frown on the thought of him pursuing this without her guidance, he also knew that Nathan had a unique insight into how sonar worked because of his intimate experiences communicating with the whales. But Nathan was very private about his dealings with the whales, to the point of deep self-consciousness, and Charles would never betray that trust by discussing it with anyone. Besides, he was the manager of Dethklok and head of the entire staff of Mordhaus. He knew his actions and decisions would never be questioned, or, likely, even doubted. 

“Where is the bastard?” 

“Who? Oh, the punching bag?” Get dressed and I’ll show you to my gym.” Charles was excited for Nathan to see his private work-out room.

“Maybe I am dressed. Maybe I changed into one of your suits while you were busy working out.” Nathan toyed with Charles.

“Oh how I wish I could see that!” The manager sighed, as he turned towards Nathan and imagined the sight of the larger man’s strong body busting out of one of his custom-made London suits. He couldn’t suppress a small laugh. “I’m hoping, for the suit’s sake, that that isn’t the case, though it is an intriguing image.” 

Then, remembering that Nathan had recently been concerned and ashamed about recent weight gain he quickly added… “Just because, different sizes, you know…” he trailed off lamely, feeling bad, even though Nathan had initiated the conversation.

“Are you saying I’m fat?” Charles wasn’t sure if there was an air of defensiveness in Nathan’s voice, or if the question was actually meant in jest. Oh to be able to read his facial expression!

“No, no. Stop. Nathan, you are perfect! Perfect! Hey, I have something for you that we talked about earlier…” He quickly turned back towards his closet and grabbed something from its hook, then headed towards where Nathan had stood. Finding the singer, he reached up and slowly placed the red tie over Nathan’s head, allowing his hands and the tie to caress the back of his head and neck on the way down.

“Brutal!” Nathan exclaimed quietly. “Does this mean I get an office too?” Charles could hear his grin.

“You’ll have to share mine,” the CFO quipped back. 

Then as Charles tightened the tie on the otherwise unclothed man he was surprised as Nathan interrupted and actually reached up to stop him.

“I … uh… need to tell you something. I actually… I already have one of your ties. When you… when you died before… We stayed with you until it was all over. I don’t know if you knew that. You were still alive for a bit, I think. But when the Medical Gears came, and took your pulse, and….” He paused for a moment, and Charles let go of the tie and gripped his hand. “I just needed something… some part of you, to keep… so I took off your tie, and I still have it. I thought you should know. So you, uh, don’t have to give me another one…”

Charles felt a tightness in his own throat to match that he heard in the singer’s. Squeezing Nathan’s hand, he rested his head against his warm, broad chest, and they just stood there in silence for a moment. Charles was captivated by sound of Nathan’s rapidly beating heart. Finally he said quietly,

“Thank you Nathan. I didn’t know that. I’m glad for you to have it, that tie. But you don’t need it. I won’t leave you again.”

They both knew it was not a promise he could truly make, and Nathan called him out.

“You can’t say that for sure,” he said quietly.

“I know.” Charles replied, in an equal tone. “But I can try.” Then there was no more to say.

After another moment of silence and togetherness, they pulled apart. Charles gave Nathan’s hand one more quick squeeze and said “Well I see you’re not actually wearing my suit. You shouldn’t lie to a blind man like that, you know.” He smiled up at Nathan to indicate the comment was in jest. “Let’s go see if we can teach that punching bag a lesson, shall we. Clothing is optional. But feel free to keep this on.” He reached for the tie, and quickly finished tightening it, weaving some of the singer’s long black hair around it. “That’s an image I don’t ever want to get out of my head!” 

 

************


	3. Staring At The Sun... A Metalocalypse Fanfic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small and Tommy Blacha are gods. 
> 
> Gratitude: Thanks to my lovely Beta (and sis) YvetteDel, as well as everyone who is reading and enjoying this!! <3 u!!
> 
> Notes: This story is a direct continuation of another story called "Out of Darkness", and part of what hopefully will end up being a trilogy. "Out of Darkness" explains a few things such as how Charles went blind and subsequently found himself in a relationship with Nathan.
> 
> Warnings: Some strong language… but seriously, it's Metalocalypse, what did you expect? ;) (Wink)  
> This story contains a slash pairing (Charles/Nathan) which had just been established at the end of the previous story.
> 
> ***********

Charles lead Nathan, by the tie, out of his bedroom and down a short adjoining hall, at the end of which he opened an unlocked door and stepped into his gym. He left the door open for Nathan who had stopped to grab his pants which had been unceremoniously tossed aside in the living room the evening before. Once in the room, Charles felt along the right side of the door frame for a version of the original white cane that he kept in here, which hung on the wall, unfolded. (The black one that the band had had made for him was kept available for his everyday use, but he liked to have one set aside for this large private room). He unconsciously pressed his thumb into the grip on top of the cane. Next to him he heard the singer approach and whistle through his teeth.

“Oh my god, Charles! You weren’t kidding about working out! My god, this is…. Who are you?”

“Well, it’s a hobby. Actually, it’s more than a hobby. Or it was. Anyway, here’s the culprit.” His cane came into contact with what he suspected was the first of a row of hanging punching bags. As he was making his way to the heavy bag, Nathan stopped him, with a hand on his shoulder.

“Whoa. If you trip over it, it wins again.”

Just as Nathan said this, the end of the cane tapped the large object, wich was still on the floor. 

“Oh. I thought I had asked for someone to come set this up again. I, ah… Well, lets just do this.” 

If Nathan was wondering what the body-shaped bag was doing on the floor, he had the decency not to inquire. 

Charles took a step back as he felt Nathan bend down and swoop up the 100 lbs bag like it was nothing. He was secretly glad that the front-man stepped in to do the heavy lifting, though he could have done it himself. He wanted to save his energy, though, for what the sonar had in store for him.

“Is that a faint outline of Dr. Rockzo’s face painted on the bag?” Nathan asked.

“Oh, ah, maybe. That’s, ah, old.”

“I approve.” Nathan said matter-of-factly, as he lifted the bag and hooked it back up to its stand. Then, turning back to Charles he added, protectively, “Don’t turn it on yet. Remember, you have a limited time before…”

“Before I feel a bolt of lightning shoot through my head and then gloriously pass out? Yes, I remember.”

Charles felt small table next to the heavy bag stand and located wraps. He deftly folded the cane, placed it on the table and began wrapping his hands and wrists, as he recalled his first sonar lesson with Nathan. He had not activated the devices again since the previous use had landed him back in the Mordhaus hospital wing. The implants, which were meant to eventually enable him to interpret sonar waves in a somewhat visual fashion, were both a source of hope and frustration to him, and at this point frustration was winning out. But with Nathan’s unique guidance, Charles was feeling a little more positive about attempting this again; he just had to be aware of how his body was reacting.

Once he had wrapped both hands, he slipped on a pair of light gloves. He admitted to himself, that while he always considered himself careful before, he, was in truth, extremely confident in his own abilities and perhaps slightly reckless in his lack of personal protection from time to time. But now that he relied on his hands for navigation, he needed to focus a little more on safety precautions. At least for now.

Nathan piped up. “Maybe we should start with a smaller bag… Like that speed bag over there?”

“The one that would likely bounce back and hit me in the face? It’s much easier to hide a bruised torso than a broken nose. I’ve thought this through, you know.”

“Oh. Okay, good point. Now, take a step back.” Without waiting for Charles to initiate this, Nathan took him by the shoulders and gently pushed him back about a foot, keeping a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s right in front of you.”

“Yes.”

“Are you ready?

Charles took a breath, and vocally directed his watch to commence an alarm sequence that would warn him after 14 minutes. He gathered, from his previous experience, that he would have a few minutes after the alarm went off to register his body’s warning signs and turn the devices off before they rendered him unconscious. 

“Yes,” he stated, determinedly, subconsciously adapting a fighting stance.

“Ah, will you…” He indicated the dial with his gloved hand.

“Oh yeah, here!” Nathan came over and gently turned the miniscule safety dial to the off position.

“Here goes,” he said as he turned the switch to activate the small metal implants embedded in Charles’s temples. Both devices were activated by the same switch.

“Now don’t rush this, okay?” Nathan continued, putting a steadying hand on Charles’s shoulder. “And don’t try to see it. Just feel it. Reach forward and know when you’re going to touch it. Don’t hit it though, not yet.”

Charles did as Nathan instructed as the singer repositioned himself. Charles felt like he knew how close the bag was even without the sonar, based on where he thought he was standing, but as he reached out to touch the bag, he hesitated, and allowed himself to slow down earlier than he would have expected, and tap the bag in front of him.

“You pushed me back in closer, and I didn’t even realize it.” Charles stated.

“You thought you knew where it was. But you didn’t need to know where it was, because you could sense where it was… Right?”

“Right,” Charles felt the corners of his mouth rise, but repressed the desire to express too much emotion. He had work to do.

“Now hit it, and then try to hit it again... I won’t let it get you.”

“Okay…” Allowing himself to believe he could feel where the target was, Charles took a strong jab at it, and connected powerfully. Then, without thinking about it he hit it again as it came back towards him. Feeling good, he went in for one more hit, but slowed as something felt different. His third punch connected with something unexpected.

“OW! That’s my fucking arm! I said I was going to stop it. Man, you have a hell of a punch! Remind me never to piss you off.”

“Ah, noted! Sorry by the way! I just, ah, really, got into it. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll live. Hey, do it again. I’ll grab it after three times this time. Don’t hit me again!”

“Okay.” Charles sunk back into his stance, took another deep breath and proceeded to jab at the bag, three consecutive times before stepping back, trusting that Nathan would stop it. 

“Brutal! How are you feeling?”

Just as the question was asked, the watch alarm sounded, indicated that however he was feeling now was about to change. 

“Okay, stop!” Nathan said commandingly. 

“There’s time for one more round!”

“If I have to drag your passed out body to the hospital again…”

“You dragged me??”

“Well no, but I will this time! Just move around a bit and focus on what you feel might be in front of you. And how your body is feeling… lightning bolts and all that…”

“Fine.” Charles complied, not wanting to wake up in the “recovery suite” again.

Soon Charles started to feel the expected wave of nausea start to quickly build. 

“It’s time,” he said hurriedly and Nathan rushed up and cupped Charles’s jaw while he quickly turned the switch located on the other side of his head. He also turned the safety back on.

Charles stood motionless, head still in Nathan’s hands, and breathed deeply for a moment allowing the nausea to quietly pass.

“Hey,” Nathan said, sliding his hands down to Charles’s shoulders. “Great job, seriously. That kicked ass.”

“Well that may be a bit generous of a description, but it felt good anyway. Thanks again.”

“Anytime. Or how ever often you can handle it… the devices… you know… But, like yeah, we got keep practicing.”

Charles repressed a grin at Nathan’s use of “we”. 

“I’m sure we can come up with many different creative ways to hone these skills…” Charles added, as he removed the gloves and wraps, and stepped forward, feeling the table with his leg. He replaced them on the table, next to the folded cane.

“How’s your arm?”

“Purple. How am I gonna explain this to the guys?”

“Just tell them that you got beat up by a blind guy.”

“Ha. That’s a bit of a stretch.”

“I supposed it is. But I bet that I could take you down, right now… Just saying.” He was feeling confident and playful.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? I think the sonar has messed with your head.” Charles could hear Nathan’s grin.

“Are you game? Cause I think this could be fun. But you can’t just let me get you…”

“Oh I wouldn’t dream of it! But seriously, how are you gonna find me?” Charles could hear that Nathan was backing away. The game was on, and he could tell they were both enjoying it. He followed the singer’s voice, bending his knees and injecting a bounce into his step, aided by the padded floor of the gym. 

“Just keep talking…”

“Do you always try to beat people up on the second date?”

“Is this our second date? I guess maybe it is. What do you think?”

“Well, I don’t want to consider any of it dating actually cause dating sucks so hard and…”

Charles knew that the question would provoke a drawn out answer, and he took the opportunity to quickly close in on Nathan. When he judged the proximity to be accurate, he flung his leg up in a well-styled roundhouse kick. As he had anticipated, Nathan’s reaction was quick and the singer grabbed Charles’s outstretched leg as it approached his shoulder. While the kick, which never intended to connect, was interrupted, Charles’s momentum was not, and he allowed his body to follow through, connecting with the thighs of his larger companion, and driving Nathan’s feet out from under him. The larger man went crashing down on the padded floor, with Charles twisted on top of him, so that his leg, which was still in Nathan’s grasp, wasn’t tweaked. 

“Oh my fucking god!” exclaimed Nathan, from the ground as he released Charles’s leg. Charles could hear the amazement in his heavily breathing voice. Then he added, in a playful growl, “You came dangerously close to hitting below the belt!”

Charles was catching his breath and recovering from the fall. Even though he had been padded by Nathan’s body, he still couldn’t anticipate when they were going to hit the ground, and it was a jarring experience…. But thrilling nonetheless!

“I’m going to start calling you Chuck Norris! A roundhouse kick to the head? I did not see that coming!”

“You did, actually, and it was to the shoulder, not the head… I think,” Charles replied breathlessly. “I never intended to actually kick you! I guess I took a chance on your reflexes there. And you didn’t let me down.” He grinned and rolled off of the singer, till he was on his back, next to him with their arms pressed against each other’s. He continued to breathe heavily as he stared blankly at the climbing-wall covered ceiling. 

“You’re not very hurt are you?” Charles leaned his head against Nathan’s shoulder that was still heaving.

“After you took me out and then landed on me? Maybe a few bruises, but mostly just my fucking pride!” After a pause he added, “I am so impressed right now. You are so much more badass that I ever realized.”

“Well, I tend to keep most of this stuff,” he indicated the gym in general, “ah… to myself. But it’s nice to share it with someone. I, ah, I really appreciate letting me do that.”

“It’s all so fucking Metal.” Nathan continued, awe having crept into his voice. Then he added, as if to himself, “Track one… Roundhouse Kick to the Psyche”

Charles beamed.

 

**************

 

Eventually, Charles and Nathan both rose and brushed themselves off. Charles checked with his watch and was informed that it was around 6 am.

“I should be asleep for like 6 more hours!” Nathan exclaimed. “The meeting isn’t til way later today.”

The band meeting that Charles had scheduled for today was to do with the rapidly approaching Press-Conference formerly known as a concert. As were all meetings where the band’s attendance was desired, it was scheduled no earlier than mid-afternoon. Multi-Platinum gazillionaire rockstars did not generally make good morning people, Charles mused, thought Nathan seemed to be hanging in there so far. 

Realizing he had lost any reference point by which to orient himself to the room, Charles strode forward, hand outstretched, until he came into contact with something. Further investigation revealed that it was one of the punching-bag structures, which gave him an idea of where he was in relation to the door and the rest of the room. He felt his way to the small side table and picked up the cane, not bothering to unfold it, before heading towards the door, still guided by a hand.

“You coming?” Charles shifted his sightless gaze back to where the other man still stood.

“Yeah,” Nathan replied, and Charles wondered if the singer had been watching him.

 

************


	4. Staring At The Sun... A Metalocalypse Fanfic

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small and Tommy Blacha are gods. 

Apologies: Sorry it's a fairly short part. More to follow... sooon.... :)

Gratitude: Thanks to my lovely Beta (and sis) YvetteDel, as well as everyone who is reading and enjoying this!!  
<3 u all!!

Notes: This story is a direct continuation of another story called "Out of Darkness", and part of what hopefully will end up being a trilogy. "Out of Darkness" explains a few things such as how Charles went blind and subsequently found himself in a relationship with Nathan.

Warnings: Some strong language… but seriously, it's Metalocalypse, what did you expect? ;) (Wink)  
This story contains a slash pairing (Charles/Nathan) which had just been established at the end of the previous story.

Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! :) :) :)

*********************************************************

Charles carefully leaned over and gave the sleeping singer a gentle kiss on the neck before sliding out of bed. He proceeded to throw on a pair of work-out pants and commence his pre-shower ritual of 100 push-ups on the exercise mat on the corner of his room. 

Though lost in thought and pleasant memories he still managed to keep a quiet verbal count, as was part of his routine. As he reached 100, he spun around and sat, catching his breath and feeling for the towel he knew was hanging from a hook nearby.

“Do you do this every day?” a gravelly voice asked from the bed.

“Oh, good morning Nathan… ah, how long have you been awake?”

“Since around 40. I have to say, that’s pretty brutal, but you kind of make it look easy. You’re really fit!”

Charles lay the towel down. So Nathan had been watching him for a while. Ordinarily it would have bothered him, to be watched while unaware, but he found he liked knowing that Nathan had been quietly observing him for the last 60 pushups. He couldn’t help it, however, when a hint of introversion crept into his voice.

“I, ah, I work out.” 

“No kidding!”

Charles got up and turned towards Nathan, who, judging from his voice, was still sitting on the bed.

“So you survived the night in a normal sized bed!” he teased the singer.

Nathan grunted an inaudible reply.

At some point in the previous evening they had made their way from couch to bed, still in the darkness of the un-lit apartment. Charles realized that Nathan must have switched on a light at some point this morning. He had forgotten that he still kept side lamps by the bed.

“What time is it?” Charles asked Nathan, though he could have just as easily asked his watch.

There was a pause as Nathan consulted his phone, which it took him a moment to find. “It’s like 5 am! This is ridiculous! How did we go to sleep so early last night?”

“Well, lack of light will, ah, mess with your perception of time like that. But, honestly, I think it had more to do with the, ah, host of physical activity that preceded our sleep…”

“Is that some kind of fucked up lawyer way of saying we got really tired from making out a lot?”

Charles had to stifle a laugh. “Yes, that’s exactly what it is.” It was true that they didn’t do much more than what would be considered “making out”… the time didn’t seem quite right yet for more. But what they did do, they did with an unbridled enthusiasm that certainly had lead to exhaustion! And it had been beautiful.

Charles heard Nathan get up and presumably switched on the main light.

“Oh my god, Charles, you are covered in bruises! What did you do??”

It took Charles a moment to realize what Nathan was talking about. His fingers pressed lightly over his torso. The dull ache had almost gone away, but apparently the color had not.

“I… ah… it’s… ah, it’s no big deal.” He started, awkwardly. He had hoped to forget about his stupid attempt at fighting the punching bag in his gym recently. It had been a test, one that, for some unknown reason, he thought he had a chance of succeeding at. It had not turned out how he’d hoped.

“Wait, did someone do that to you??” Charles could hear Nathan start to get worked up.

“No, not someone. Something, okay. Heavy punching bag. Thought I could still do it, turns out I can’t. Can we please drop it?” Feeling tension in his chest, he carefully but quickly made his way over to the walk-in closet across the room, and felt for a tee-shirt where he knew they should be and slipped it on. He wondered if he had any other lingering bruises that he wasn’t aware of, recalling that they seemed to peak in color when they no longer hurt.

“Damn. Do you want me to kick that punching bag’s ass?” Nathan asked.

“ No, I will do that, one of these days. Just took things too fast. Abigail warned me about that.”

He neglected to mention that after taking a bad hit from the body-sized bag, which was something he was very unaccustomed to doing, he had torn the bag down, slammed it on the ground and wailed on it until his anger and frustration dissipated to a numb lack of caring. 

“What’s your deal with Abigail, really?”

“Oh god Nathan, she has become a friend, nothing more. Besides, did she just wake up in my bed? I don’t think so.”

“Hmm, good point…” Nathan mused. 

“Her brother went blind some time ago, so she kind of gets this…”

“Oh. I didn’t know that. That sucks. I mean, that’s good that… I mean… whatever, you know what I mean. Fuck.”

Charles appreciated Nathan’s assumption. It was true… after all this time, most often no explanation was necessary. The frustration he expressed by the added curse didn’t go unnoticed either. Nathan just needed a patient listener when he communicated and Charles was happy to be that for him.

“I guess… Well, that’s kind of cool of her to show up then, actually.” Nathan seemed to contemplate this for a moment then, reverting to the previous subject, he added, “Hey, when you get good with the sonar you’ll be able to take out that asshole punching bag.”

“That’s the goal. Well, the first step towards the goal anyway.”

“You’ll do it. Today. Now. I’ll help.” Nathan said. It was more of a statement than an offer. Charles cocked his head slightly.

“I’d, ah, okay.” He had yet to get back to learning to use his sonar devices, after the previous time left him in the hospital. While he knew his physical therapist would frown on the thought of him pursuing this without her guidance, he also knew that Nathan had a unique insight into how sonar worked because of his intimate experiences communicating with the whales. But Nathan was very private about his dealings with the whales, to the point of deep self-consciousness, and Charles would never betray that trust by discussing it with anyone. Besides, he was the manager of Dethklok and head of the entire staff of Mordhaus. He knew his actions and decisions would never be questioned, or, likely, even doubted. 

“Where is the bastard?” 

“Who? Oh, the punching bag?” Get dressed and I’ll show you to my gym.” Charles was excited for Nathan to see his private work-out room.

“Maybe I am dressed. Maybe I changed into one of your suits while you were busy working out.” Nathan toyed with Charles.

“Oh how I wish I could see that!” The manager sighed, as he turned towards Nathan and imagined the sight of the larger man’s strong body busting out of one of his custom-made London suits. He couldn’t suppress a small laugh. “I’m hoping, for the suit’s sake, that that isn’t the case, though it is an intriguing image.” 

Then, remembering that Nathan had recently been concerned and ashamed about recent weight gain he quickly added… “Just because, different sizes, you know…” he trailed off lamely, feeling bad, even though Nathan had initiated the conversation.

“Are you saying I’m fat?” Charles wasn’t sure if there was an air of defensiveness in Nathan’s voice, or if the question was actually meant in jest. Oh to be able to read his facial expression!

“No, no. Stop. Nathan, you are perfect! Perfect! Hey, I have something for you that we talked about earlier…” He quickly turned back towards his closet and grabbed something from its hook, then headed towards where Nathan had stood. Finding the singer, he reached up and slowly placed the red tie over Nathan’s head, allowing his hands and the tie to caress the back of his head and neck on the way down.

“Brutal!” Nathan exclaimed quietly. “Does this mean I get an office too?” Charles could hear his grin.

“You’ll have to share mine,” the CFO quipped back. 

Then as Charles tightened the tie on the otherwise unclothed man he was surprised as Nathan interrupted and actually reached up to stop him.

“I … uh… need to tell you something. I actually… I already have one of your ties. When you… when you died before… We stayed with you until it was all over. I don’t know if you knew that. You were still alive for a bit, I think. But when the Medical Gears came, and took your pulse, and….” He paused for a moment, and Charles let go of the tie and gripped his hand. “I just needed something… some part of you, to keep… so I took off your tie, and I still have it. I thought you should know. So you, uh, don’t have to give me another one…”

Charles felt a tightness in his own throat to match that he heard in the singer’s. Squeezing Nathan’s hand, he rested his head against his warm, broad chest, and they just stood there in silence for a moment. Charles was captivated by sound of Nathan’s rapidly beating heart. Finally he said quietly,

“Thank you Nathan. I didn’t know that. I’m glad for you to have it, that tie. But you don’t need it. I won’t leave you again.”

They both knew it was not a promise he could truly make, and Nathan called him out.

“You can’t say that for sure,” he said quietly.

“I know.” Charles replied, in an equal tone. “But I can try.” Then there was no more to say.

After another moment of silence and togetherness, they pulled apart. Charles gave Nathan’s hand one more quick squeeze and said “Well I see you’re not actually wearing my suit. You shouldn’t lie to a blind man like that, you know.” He smiled up at Nathan to indicate the comment was in jest. “Let’s go see if we can teach that punching bag a lesson, shall we. Clothing is optional. But feel free to keep this on.” He reached for the tie, and quickly finished tightening it, weaving some of the singer’s long black hair around it. “That’s an image I don’t ever want to get out of my head!” 

 

************


	5. Staring At The Sun... A Metalocalypse Fanfic

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small and Tommy Blacha are gods. 

*****************************************

 

Charles and Nathan arrived at the conference room around the same time the others were shuffling in. 

“Hello there!” Pickles exclaimed upon seeing the two of them. Charles recalled yesterday’s interruption. He wasn’t happy about his private life being made public in any way, but the joy in Pickles’s voice made it clear that he supported the arrangement, and probably fancied himself somewhat responsible for it, which was quite accurate.

“Good afternoon,” Charles replied as he took his seat at the head of the table. He folded the black cane and laid it on the table next the modified laptop that had been affixed towards one side of Charles’s area of the table. It was connected to the rest of the new system. Charles hadn’t used it yet. Next to the table sat a light briefcase that he had brought.

When it sounded like everyone had arrived and taken a seat he addressed the room.

“Rumor has it that you guys are committed to put out an entire new album. I just want to hear it from all of you before I make any calls to the media about a change in the event. The event being the former mini-concert, which is, may I remind you all, the day after tomorrow.” 

“Ooh yeah, we’re all good on that. Nathan is right, that wasn’t just pillow talk!” Pickles piped up.

“What ams pillow talk? You ams beens talking to your pillow??” Toki asked, confused. 

After a moment Charles guessed that Skwisgaar had leaned over and whispered in the young guitarist’s ear because Toki exclaimed, “Oh wowee!! Nate’ans and Charles you ams sharings pillows?? Kind of likes me and Skwisgaar dat times, and den dat other times…”

He stopped abruptly and Charles had to wonder if Skwisgaar had kicked him under the table.

“Ah, alright then,” Charles continued. “All personal drama aside, if this is the case and you are going to be making a new record then I, ah, have some contracts from Crystal Mountain that will need to be signed. The record company wants to know that this is truly going to happen. As usual, lives will probably depend on it.”

“We can’ts helps it if our fans is crazy!” Skwisgaar exclaimed.

“Yeah!” Murderface echoed, adding to himself “Crazy motherfuckers, what is wrong with people!?”

“Yes, well you can help it if an album is scheduled to drop and it doesn’t happen, resulting in, well, mass destruction and world-wide hysteria.”

He reached down and removed a folder from his briefcase. The contracts had arrived just before they left for the meeting.

“I haven’t looked at these yet,” Charles started.

“No kiddings,” Skwisgaar sniggered. Charles refrained from scowling. The guitarist had a propensity to find humor in awkward places and while he was the only one to call Charles out on his choice of words the others were probably thinking it too.

“Yes, well, you all know what I mean. Lets, ah, review it together then.” He felt on the laptop in front of him for the “on” button, and activated the machine. After a brief moment it instructed in a slightly robotic female voice, “PLEASE INSERT PAGE TO SCAN”.

Charles complied and inserted in into a slit that he felt. The thin scanner was located under the main processor.

After another moment the computer spat out the page, which fell into Charles’s lap, and chimed “INSERTED UPSIDE DOWN. PLEASE REINSERT.”

“That’s what she said!” Pickles whispered, to the amusement of the rest of the band, except for Toki who didn’t seem to get it.

Charles sighed, carefully took the page and flipped it over and then reinserted it.

“INSERTED BACKWARDS. PLEASE REINSERT.” The page was spat out again.

“God dammit!! Who designed this thing?!”

Amid his frustration Charles heard Nathan get up. He held his hand up to indicate for the singer to stop.

“Please. Just let me figure this out.”

“You’re not gonna figure it out. You’re gonna guess until you get it right. Just give it to me for a sec.” Nathan continued his approach.

“Fine,” Charles said, somewhat defeated. He thrust the paper in Nathan’s direction.

Nathan took it and handed it back after a second.

“Right top corner is ripped off. Have at it. By the way... Track Two: Bad Design.”

Charles raised and eyebrow and the focused his attention back on the page. He felt the corners, finding the one that the singer had torn off.

“Am this whats you guys talks about with da pillows? Rippings papers and stuffs? Skwisgaar, we should plays da papers games too!” Toki said brightly.

“Tokis… this ams nots da time or da place…”

“It was the place yeschterday!” Muderface chimed in. Charles recalled how he and Nathan had been walked in on by the drummer and bass player. By this time he had reinserted the paper, in the direction which he now knew was face-up, and the computer accepted it, sliding it through to the other side. The scan was complete. “SCAN MORE OR READ PAGE?”

“Ah, read page,” Charles said, leaning into the computer as he spoke, assuming there was a microphone somewhere.

“Okay guys, listen up. This is what you’ll be signing.”

The computer started to read the contract out loud. Charles felt along the sides until he located a volume dial, and turned it up to draw attention to it.

The reading ended with “SIGNATURES REQUIRED FROM EXPLOSION, NATHAN; SKWIGELF, SKWISGAAR; THE DRUMMER, PICKLES; MURDERFACE, WILLIAM; WARTOOTH, TOKI; AND OFDENSON, CHARLES.”

When it was done there was silence, except for some shuffling… the sounds of boredom.

The Nathan asked, “Pickles, do you even have a last name??”

Ignoring the question Pickles asked “Wait, so are we, like, supposed to understand that stuff now?” 

Now. As in now that you’re blind. The implication that the band would have to pick up any slack because of what he was now incapable of doing stung, hard.

“No. No, you don’t have to understand it because I do. I should have read this before the meeting.” He unconsciously straightened his jacket. “Sounds like it’s all standard. I, ah, would advise you all to sign it.” He felt behind the laptop for the paper, found the torn corner which allowed him to flip it right-side up and slide it down the table to Nathan, along with a ball-point pen which he pulled from his briefcase and clicked into the on- position. 

“By the way, Pickles, how is your hand?”

“Gettin’ better! Definitely downgraded from brutal to just kinda fucked.”

“That’s, ah, good… I think.” 

Once everyone had signed the page it was passed back to Charles. Nathan was already making his way over and once he reached Charles’s side he leaned down and whispered, “Sign right next to my finger.”

Charles easily felt Nathan’s index finger pressed on the paper and positioned his pen next to it, lining it up as best he could with the bottom edge of the paper, for a straight signature. He signed quickly and then gave Nathan’s hand a quick squeeze of thanks with his free hand, before sliding the paper back in a folder in the briefcase. Abigail had punched different numbers of holes in the corners of several folders, so he could locate papers by knowing what folder he had put them in. This contract was in folder #1.

“Okay I have a queschtion!” Murderface announced.

“Yes?” Charles answered.

“They schay that when you lose a schense, your others get better, like schuper-human! Scho, what I want to know isch… can you read my mind??”

“No. Ah, ESP isn’t even a sense actually, so I don’t see how…” his explanation was interrupted.

“Yah! Reads his minds!!” Toki was clearly excited about the prospect.

“What am I thinking about??” Murderface persisted.

“Fine.” Charles decided that it was easier to give in than to argue with them. “You’re thinking about… breasts and urine.” 

“What are you even talking about???”

“See? No ESP. By the way that’s just another way of saying, ah, tits and piss.” 

“OH MY GOD you guysch!! He totally read my mind!!”

“What? No, no, I, ah, just guessed randomly based on what I know about you….” But it was no use.

“Does me! Does me! And Skwisgaar!!” Toki chimed in.

“You- Cats. Skwisgaar- Guitar.”

Two gasps erupted from the end of the table.

“WOWEE! You ams psychic Charles!” Toki’s praise was similarly echoed by Skwisgaar.

“What? No, I’m just guessing! Really, I’m, ah, not a mind reader and, for the record, I’m not psychic either. And they’re, ah, actually two different things...” Charles trailed off. He was starting to wish he didn’t know the band so well that he happened to guess correctly on each account. 

Suddenly something jumped onto his lap. Startled, he sprang up from his chair, knocking it backwards onto the stone floor. The jumper scrambled off with a loud hiss.

“Is there a cat in here!?” Charles demanded, catching his breath from his near-stumble.

“Yes, that ams my new cats! He ams almost as cool as my olds cats! Dr. Rockzo gives him to me, he founds him in an alley.”

“Dr. Rockzo gave you a mangy alley cat?”

“He ams not mangy! He just has a few fleas or somethins’” Toki said in defense of his cat.

Charles shuddered and brushed himself off, making a mental note to have a Gear bathe the cat. As he righted his chair he addressed the group.

“Can you guys do me a favor, all of you? When we have these meetings if there’s anything out of the ordinary that I should know about, for example, someone’s bleeding profusely, or there’s a cat wandering around… Would you please just let me know? Thank you.”

“I probably should have told you about the cat…” Nathan trailed off.

“Where is the cat now?” Charles asked.

“He ams back with me. You were scarings him!”

“I scared him?” Charles took a breath. “Alright then, fine. Sorry cat. Toki, try to keep your cat with you if you’re going to bring him to meetings, okay. I wouldn’t want to, ah, scare him again.”

“Okays. Bys the ways, his names ams Dr. Sockzo, cause he has socks! He ams black with da whites feets. He ams so cutes!!”

“I’m, ah, sure he is. Dr. Sockzo.” Charles sighed.

“That ams his names, don’t wears it outs!” Skwisgaar piped in.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” muttered Charles.

“But,” Toki added seriously, “Just sos you knows, Dr. Sockzo ams not a real doctor.” 

“Ah, very well then,” Charles replied. Then, poignantly he added, “And neither is Dr. Rockzo. You know that, right Toki? … Right??”

But Toki now busy cooing to his cat and didn’t reply. Charles sighed again.

 

****************


	6. Staring At The Sun... A Metalocalypse Fanfic

Apology: Rumors of my assimilation by the Borg are mildly exaggerated. Actually, that would be a good excuse for not having posted in forever... but turns out my real excuse is just, well, life stuff. This is a short part, but I'm posting another right now as well... Thanks for not giving up on this story even though I disappeared for a bit! :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small and Tommy Blacha are gods. 

*****************************************

 

It was the morning of the press conference- the day the world would discover that Charles Ofdensen was permanently scathed. It was about to get real. 

Charles lay in bed, finding little comfort in Nathan’s slow and heavy breathing beside him. They had been spending most nights together in Charles’s apartment. Last night they had shared Nathan’s giant bed, a fact which had been fun at the time but which Charles now regretted, as he found it a lot easier to prepare for the day in the familiarity of his own room. And today’s preparation was going to require special care.

He was getting slightly more familiar with Nathan’s room- at the very least he was learning to avoid the large, decorative (yet still painful) spikes which adorned the edges of nearly every piece of furniture. Sitting up, he turned and gingerly swung his legs over the side of the bed, careful to avoid the brutal décor that graced even the bed frame.

He retrieved the folded cane from a bedside table. He still relied heavily on its guidance in locations other than his own quarters. He had had several extra sets of his clothes, along with toiletries, brought here for mornings such as these. As he returned to the bed carrying a neatly folded pile he heard the other man stirring. 

“Nathan?” he called out quietly.

“Mmmm?” came the muffled reply.

“I’m going to head back to my place to get ready.”

“What? No… You can use my shower and stuff…” Nathan protested, and Charles thought he heard him sit up.

“It’s best I don’t. I won’t know where or what anything is…”

“Well I’ll show you cause I’ll be in there too. It’s a big shower.” 

“Oh. Ah… alright then,” Charles replied, any initial hesitation quickly dissolving A shower with Nathan might be just what he needed this morning to calm his nerves.

“Come with me…” Nathan had now gotten up and took Charles by the hand to lead him to the bathroom.

 

************

 

When the shower was over Charles wasn’t sure if he was going to remember much about which bottles contained what, or where the soap was kept, but the experience on the whole was certainly a memorable one. By this point they were quite intimately familiar with each other, though Charles never pushed for sex. Seeing as this was Nathan’s first experience with another man, Charles wanted him to take his time getting comfortable with every aspect of the relationship. Nathan had all the experience in the world with casual groupie encounters of various forms, but his relationship with Charles was worlds apart from any of those experiences, and the singer was treating it as such. As the two of them explored and enjoyed each other’s bodies they were also slowly and carefully getting to know each other on a much more meaningful level.

With damp hair and a towel around his waist, Charles stationed himself at one end of the long granite-topped vanity counter in Nathan’s roomy bathroom. His toiletries were arranged neatly against the mirrored wall, and he started to comb his hair back. Today he was going to be back out in the world, for all to see, answering the questions that were on everyone’s minds, and attempting to dodge others. He squeezed some hair gel into his palm and was absently preparing to smooth it into his hair when Nathan called out,

“Whoa. You’re really nervous about today aren’t you?”

“No, I’m fine. Ah, what makes you think that I’m nervous?”

“Well, you’re definitely pre-occupied with something right now cause you’re about to put body wash in your hair.”

Charles automatically looked down at his hands, of course seeing nothing. He felt the substance that now coated both hands and brought it up to his face to smell it. 

“Oh my god, you’re right. How could I make that mistake!?” he chastised himself. They were in similar shaped bottles but he knew the differences, and they felt and smelled different too.

“This is gonna be your first time outside of Mordhaus since it happened. I’ve been thinking about it too.” Nathan came up beside him and started gently rubbing Charles’s neck with one hand, while turning on the sink with the other. Charles leaned over and rinsed his soap covered hands, then turned the sink off and wiped his hands on his waist-towel. He leaned his head over onto Nathan’s shoulder.

“Has to happen sometime. What’s done is done and people are getting curious. Curiosity leads to rumors, and that, while possibly being good for record sales in the short term, can have harmful long term effects on the band’s image.”

“Spoken like a true robot CFO.” Nathan replied lightly. “I’m surprised you didn’t short-circuit in the shower.”

Charles didn’t even force a smile, and it was clear that Nathan didn’t know how to respond to the now awkward situation that he had created. He gave Charles’s shoulder a quick squeeze and they both continued their morning routines in silence. Finally Nathan broke the silence.

“You’ll get through this. And you won’t be alone.”

He leaned over and gave Charles a light kiss on the cheek, as the manager stared blankly in the mirror, lost in though. Charles heard Nathan shuffle out of the room.

“Thank you,” Charles whispered to no one.

 

************


	7. Staring At The Sun... A Metalocalypse Fanfic

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small and Tommy Blacha are gods. 

*****************************************

 

After allowing Charles to get into the car first, followed by Abigail, who took a seat on the manager’s far side, the band shuffled noisily into the DethLimo, lead by Nathan who took the other seat flanking Charles. 

Pickles sat down proclaiming, “On our way to the world’s shortest concert… sweet!”

Soon the car start moving and Charles took a deep breath and sat a little straighter. Then, as a thought hit him he quickly asked “Is everyone in here?” He hadn’t heard from several of the band members since he sat down.

Nathan leaned over and whispered that they were all there just as Pickles replied as well.

“Yeah, everyone’s here, dood. Me, Abigail, Nathan, Murderface, Skwissgaar…” 

Suddenly Murderface piped up “Oh my gosch, where’sch Toki??”

“What!?” Charles exclaimed. He was about to call the driver to turn around when Toki’s voice permeated the car.

“But I ams right heres!”

“MURDERFACE!!” Nathan yelled, and Charles felt him get up. He grabbed for the singer and ended up grasping the back of his pants. He tried to pull him back down.

“Do NOT fuck with Charles like that. EVER! ANY OF YOU!!” Nathan stood for a moment, stooping because of the low roof and leaning against Charles’s hold, but not pulling out of it. Then, having presumably calmed down, at least a little, he turned to sit back down in his place.

“I mean it!” he grumbled.

Charles felt the need to speak for himself.

“Ah... Let’s just get through this event, everyone, alright?” He figured he didn’t need to chastise anyone after they’d just most likely endured the glare of death from Nathan. Not that he wanted Nathan to jump to his rescue all the time either, but if this put an end to any further jokes at his expense he did appreciate it. 

“What’s to get through, dood?” Pickles asked innocently. “We go out on stage and we’re all like ‘Hey fans, we’re makin’ a new album!’ and they’ll be all like ‘we fuckin’ love you Dethklok, you’re so fuckng awesome’ and we’ll be like ‘yeah, we know’ and then we leave and, then we get drunk. Bing bang boom. Done. Speaking of which, someone pass me some booze will ya?”

“Ah, maybe take it easy on the alcohol, today…” Charles started.

“Sure, this is just to take the edge off. You know, you seem a little tense. You want some?”

“God no. I mean, ah, no, I’m fine.” 

“I brought someones heres for yous, Charles,” Toki spoke up.

Oh god, please tell me he doesn’t have that cat with him. Charles must have visibly winced because Toki seemed concerned when he continued, “I thoughts you liked Deddy Bear??”

“Oh, him. Yes, I am, ah, quite fond of Deddy Bear, Toki.” He sat motionless for a second and then it occurred to him that Toki probably wanted him to take the bear. He reached over to receive the stuffed animal as Toki shoved it eagerly in his hands. 

“I knews this days woulds be scarys for yous, beings outs there ins the darks. I ams sometimes afraids of the darks too. Deddy helps.”

Charles wished he could look into the young man’s eyes at that moment and glimpse where this delicate gesture had come from. Despite being the baby of the group, emotionally as well as in age, Toki could, on occasion, display the sensitivity and wisdom of an old man. Charles also knew that, as a child, Toki had been often been forced to spend time alone in the darkness of what was referred to as the “Punishment Hole”. Thinking of this, the coming events suddenly lost some of their trepidation. Charles knew he was at least among friends.

Feeling more confident, Charles straightened up and said, “Thank you Toki. And thank you all of you for being here and agreeing to do this album. I think both the press and the fans are going to be very happy. Now, did you all look at the notes that Abigail sent over?” Abigail had come up with the production plans for the event. 

“Oh yeah, we looked at ‘em.” Pickles replied.

“Ah… Did you guys read them?”

“Ohhhh… now, that’s a different question….” The drummer replied and Charles could hear his casual lop-sided grin.

“And I think I know the answer to that question.” Abigail piped in. “It’s fine,” she said as if she had expected this. “Let’s just go over it now.”

She proceeded to concisely tell the band when they were to wait back stage, enter, and leave, in accordance with the plan.

When she was done she turned to Charles and said quietly, “A press conference is not the ideal re-introduction into public after what you’ve been through. I know you know how loud and chaotic they are. Don’t try to focus on getting your bearings through sound, it will only confuse you. Just trust me, I will guide you through it. There’s going to be music played during the intro and outro. This was something that was insisted upon, which makes sense, but you may find it very disorienting. I don’t need to tell you it’s going to be loud. But the Gears will have a very clear path back stage for us. It will be an easy in and out for you too, Charles. I’ll be with you. You just reconnect with the press and the people and do what you always do. It’s going to be good.” He felt her place a comforting hand on his leg.

“Hey, I can guide him too…” Nathan spoke up.

“I know, Nathan,” Charles interjected, turning to the singer. “But your job today is to be with the band. The fans need to see Dethklok, present and together.” He reached for the larger man’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

Abigail continued to explain. “This is about you guys and your manager and the fact that business is resuming as usual. I am just acting as an accessory today, to help things go more smoothly for Charles.” 

“Okay, but I’ll be watching you.” Nathan cautioned.

Charles had to stop from rolling his eyes at Nathan’s suspicion, though he also felt the corners of his mouth rising in a slight grin at the sentiment it portrayed. Abigail, for her part, seemed to take the singer’s vigilance as a positive thing.

“Good. We should all be watching each other after what happened at the last publicity event.”

There was suddenly a heavy silence at the reminder of the event just a few months back where Charles had been abducted, experimented on and blinded in the process. Charles took a deep breath.

“And of course we’ll all be constantly flanked by Gears,” Abigail continued quickly, as if she regretted bringing up that dark day. But the reminder was good, for all of them, Charles thought. They needed to be aware.

Soon Charles felt the vehicle slow down and come to a stop. They had arrived at their destination and the world was waiting.

 

************


	8. Staring At The Sun... A Metalocalypse Fanfic

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small and Tommy Blacha are gods. 'Nuff said.

Thanks: To anyone who's still reading this and hasn't given up on me cause I haven't posted in FOREVER.... Thank you!! Drop me a line to let me know you're reading... it will help me get my butt in gear and write more! I hope you are enjoying it!! 

*****************************************

 

As soon as the car door was opened and the band shuffled out Charles lost another one of his senses. His hearing became useless amidst the cacophony of noise that surrounded them. Fans screamed endlessly, paparazzi yelled for the band to “look over here!” and a continuous stream of camera flashbulbs went off like fireworks all around them. Abigail was right; if he focused on any of that he would be lost. 

He felt the producer put a hand on his arm and get up. He placed Deddy Bear on the seat and stood up with her, keeping a hand above his head to ascertain the location of the car’s ceiling as well as some “brutal” spike shaped adornments that protruded from said ceiling. They became a whole new kind of brutal if you impaled your skull on one.

Abigail leaned so she was speaking directly into his ear. Even still she had to yell. “It’s all set up like we talked about- a wall of Gears on either side between us and the press and public. The car’s pulled right up so it’s over the curb. One step out and you’re on the ground. The path to the door is smooth and flat but slopes slightly upward. You ready?”

He clipped the folded black cane onto his belt under his suit jacket, so it would only be subtly visible but also available if needed. He had requested to rely solely on Abigail’s guidance, so as not to have to focus on interpreting information gained from use of the cane. This would also give the public and press one less thing to gawk at.

“Do I have a choice?” he asked her in reply.

“No. Let’s do this.” She kept a hand on his arm as he followed her out of the vehicle. He held the top of the door frame with one hand, and then stood, after he was certain that he had cleared it. He tried to ignore the noise surrounding them as Abigail positioned herself next to him. Taking hold of her arm behind the elbow he initiated their stride. Boldly forward he walked, his blank stare directed straight ahead, hidden by the dark glasses.

He tried to ignore shouts of his name. Had he not been so focused on the task at hand he may have found ironic humor in the frequent shouts of “Look here!” from paparazzi hoping to snap a good shot. He found his mind wandering to concerns about the band being so far ahead of him. Normally he would be with them during something like this, to quickly atone for any publicity blunders that may occur. This thought made him pick up the pace slightly, and Abigail willingly kept up, allowing him to decide their speed. After what seemed like miles, she announced to him that they were nearing the door. She entered first and held the door. Charles stepped through and slumped against the door-jam with relief as Abigail shut the door and closed the gap between him and the outside racket. But the noise continued- hoots and exclamations, this time surrounding them. It took him a moment to realize it was the boys.

Nathan rushed up and gave his shoulder a squeeze. 

“So how does it feel to be back in the outside world?” Pickles asked enthusiastically.

“Yeahs, backs in the worlds, “Skwisgaar echoed.

“Ask me that when we’re all done here. I have to say that was a very long walk, and I’m glad it’s over.”

“Right on, man,” Murderface intoned. “Baby schteps”. 

Before Nathan could find a way to take the bassist’s comment as somehow offensive to Charles, Charles replied, “Yes, that’s actually all it is. Everything will get easier with practice.” It was much easier to say it than believe it.

“Well it’s almost time for step two so let’s head to the green room,” Abigail interrupted. The green room was where they would hang out and be waited on until going stage. Abigail gently shifted so they were both facing the right direction but waited for Charles to initiate their movement. Before doing so he unclipped and extended the cane. He felt more freedom to relax and move a little more independently in this part of the building which he knew was off limits to anyone else but their stage crew and security- all of whom were Gears. He had a slight idea of where they were heading, as Dethklok had been in this auditorium before, though it was a long time ago. Still, he kept a light hold on Abigail’s arm as he felt his way forward with the cane. The trepidation of being in a relatively unknown area was slightly lessened by a small rush that he felt as he tackled the challenge. 

Nathan had made his way to Charles’s free side.

Soon, with Charles and company arrived at the room which appeared to be just down the hall from where they had come. Upon entering Charles perched on the edge of the nearest couch. Abigail then took her leave, informing them that she would return in a bit to bring them to the stage. 

Charles felt Nathan take a seat next to him, their legs pressed up against each other. The contact with Nathan made Charles feel more secure. But this small increase in confidence must not have registered on his face because Nathan, who Charles presumed must have been watching him again, leaned over and whispered,

“No matter what happens here today I promise I’ll make you forget all about it tonight!”

Charles leaned into Nathan and smiled slightly but it felt forced. He began to calculate what could go wrong.

“Uh, gets a room, you guys!” Skwisgaar exclaimed with mild annoyance.

“Oh shut up, Swisgaar, you’re sitting there undressing Toki with your eyes!” Nathan growled.

Charles heard Toki gasp. “That ams possible?! But it amnts workings, Skwisgaar! Here, I helps… but… in fronts of everyone?”

“Toki,” Charles interjected quickly, his thoughts yanked back to reality. “Keep your clothes on. It’s, ah, an expression… for…”

Suddenly Charles’s attention was drawn to a familiar and unsettling sound- the unzipping of a fly. 

“William! Oh my god, do not…!!”

“There’sch a plant here that needsch watering!” 

“Oh dood, do not point that thing over here!!”

“There are thirshty plantsch all over the room!”

“Murderface, pull up your damn pants!” Charles yelled, standing up. The sound of a liquid stream indicated that his demand was ignored

“Charles, dood, relax. You’re kinda bummin’ us out. Will you at least take a hit off this joint?”

Charles turned towards Pickles’s voice and wondered how many other drugs the drummer had already inhaled or ingested, 5 feet away from the manager and yet completely unbeknownst to him. Weed was usually considered a "chaser" for Pickles.

“No, I really don’t.”

“Suit yourself, dood. More for us then.” The sound of a lighter being flicked on was followed by the skunky odor.

“I’m going to, ah, go get some air.” Charles stood up. He felt Nathan get up beside him.

“Outside? Do you want me to…?”

The question was laced with the implication that going outside would require assistance, which Nathan clearly felt was his responsibility. Part of Charles resented the unspoken offer while another part wondered how long before Nathan started to resent him for requiring so much help. 

“Not outside, just out of this room. I don’t need to be hot-boxed right now. Please, just let me go on my own, you stay here and do whatever you guys do before a show.” He knew that basically involved a lot of drugs and alcohol, but whatever it was it seemed to work for them.

“Okay...” Nathan sounded hesitant.

“I’ll see you in a bit,” Charles said curtly before realizing the irony of his words. He almost rolled his eyes in anticipation of a joking correction from one of the boys, which he was certainly not in the mood for, but none came. It appeared that they all either didn’t catch it or didn’t care. Charles would have thought that he would be pleased with this lack of notice but at the moment it only served to make him feel more isolated. He wondered if Nathan was watching him, and if there was pity in his eyes. Trying to shake that thought, and the anger it brought up, he awkwardly located the door handle and exited the room. 

The air in the hallway was distinctly cooler and clearer that in the crowded green-room. Charles was greeted by the two Gears posted outside the door with a formal “Sire”. One of them asked if he required help. No one would have dared ask him that before. He had been infallible prior to his injury and the world knew it. By the time this event is over, Charles thought darkly, the world will see me as damaged and incapable of so much. Even worse, they will no longer see Dethklok as untouchable.

“No.” Charles snapped angrily, in reply to the offer of help. He ordered them to stay by the door quickly stepped forward, feeling the nearest guard all but jump out of his way. Pausing briefly as he tried to recall the direction he had originally come from, he flicked open the cane and started to walk.

He just wanted to get away from the room and the two guards, who he assumed were also watching him. He shouldn’t fault them for this- protecting the band and its manager was their job- but right now he wanted nothing more than to disappear. He strode forward, expecting to end up in the foyer that they had entered into. He had no intentions of leaving the building he just felt like walking and hoped to regain some confidence through his ability to maneuver freely without a guide. 

Soon he noticed that the sound and echoes of the tapping cane changed, as he presumably went from hallway to the larger open area. 

Charles paused and listened for any indications of activity in the foyer. He knew that any Gears present would address him upon seeing him, as had always been customary. There were no greetings only a still silence. He made his way forward into the open room, wishing he had paid more attention to what little of its layout he had been exposed to when he had come through earlier in the day. He knew he should be approaching the door, though he had no intention of using it for any reason other than getting his bearings. Outside was the last place he wanted to be right now. However he discovered what seemed, to his investigative touch, to be an opening to a hallway right where the door to outside should have been. 

Perhaps he had just gone slightly off course and headed for the wrong wall. But he soon discovered that the other walls, as far as he could tell, contained similar open doorways, presumably leading to other hallways. This wasn’t the foyer they had entered into. Charles felt the hairs on his neck rise as he realized that he was lost. Did he start off in the wrong direction upon leaving the room? If the Gears that were standing guard had noticed this they probably would have held their tongues after having just been admonished for offering to help him. And why shouldn’t they assume he knew what he was doing? Wasn’t that what he wanted everyone to think? It was what he wanted to believe himself. 

Suddenly he was startled as loud noise surrounded him. He spun around reactively before realizing it was just a cooling unit that had kicked on briefly before shutting off again. Nothing to be concerned about. But his spin had been disorienting.

Just go back the way you came, he ordered himself angrily. But he knew he couldn’t do that. He had allowed himself to panic and lost any sense he might have had of which doorway he had come in through. 

Charles felt a familiar tightness in his chest. He released a shaky breath he didn’t realize he was holding. When the spinning sensation stopped he listened again, hoping for some sign that would tell him which way to go. He became away of the soft hum of fluorescent lighting… or was it something electronic? He realized there was another very faint sound on top of that… was it…? Spurred by a spike of adrenalin he rushed forward until his cane found a wall, then he turned, pressing his back to it defensively, and listened again. Far in the distance he heard what sounded like a haunting wail. His mind flipped back to the last time he had heard screams in the distance- the cold, dank laboratory where he was held captive and mutilated. Charles shook his head violently, trying to clear his mind of horrible images that he never actually saw, but that still plagued his dreams. Keeping his back against the wall he tensed up further as he thought he heard footsteps approach. He was lost and he was trapped. He could hear his own heart pounding in his ears. The footsteps grew louder. But then a familiar voice eased his fears.

“Charles,” Abigail called as she was approaching. “Are you okay? It’s almost time.”

“Oh. I’m fine,” he lied, forcing himself to appear relaxed. He reached out and when she got to him she placed his hand on her arm. 

“Okay. Are you sure?” She sounded concerned.

“Let’s go.” He focused his attention forward, not wanting to get into it further. Abigail complied and they headed back to the green room, away from the mysterious foyer he had found himself in but towards the haunting wails.

 

***********


	9. Staring At The Sun... A Metalocalypse Fanfic

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small and Tommy Blacha are gods. 'Nuff said.

*****************************************

 

The band was out in the hallway with Abigail when they returned. Nobody said anything about him having been gone. 

“Okay, follow the Gears back stage you guys. We’ll be there in just a minute.” Charles knew she was referring to herself and him. Nathan lingered behind.

“Go with them.” He said, perhaps a little too harshly. 

He felt Nathan hesitate and then peel away to lead the band.

Abigail turned Charles towards her and straightened his tie and jacket. He didn’t protest. She then paused, still holding onto the lapels of his jacket and he sensed that she was looking at him. “If you need to we can just send the band out, make up some excuse…” she said softly.

“No.” he said briskly, not having the energy or motivation to further explain.

“Alright,” she said somewhat uncertainly. They headed down the hall to follow the band backstage.

 

**********

 

As they approached the entrance to backstage Charles realized that the wailing was coming from the room they were about to enter. 

Abigail turned to Charles and spoke loudly over the music.

“Once we go through these doors we won’t be able to hear each other talk until the music stops, by which time you guys will already be seated and then revealed by the opening curtains. The setup is the same as the average press conference.”

Charles nodded absently in reply. He felt like he was barely there, as if his soul was being drawn away from his body and towards the haunting music that was eerily unfamiliar yet seemed to have a dark hold over him.

As Abigail opened the door he was nearly flattened by the thick black music which filled the room. The base and drums thundered a slow, heavy beat, oozing into his every pore. The lead guitar wailed mournfully and coupled with the ecstatic screams of fans, Charles recognized the sounds that had set him into a panic what seemed like only moments before. The adrenalin from that experience still coursed through his veins, and he felt his hair bristle again. He had been lost before but he had been far from the danger. Now, he felt he was drowning as the music pressed down on him. 

Someone leaned into him and he could hear yelling but couldn’t make out any words. He gasped as he registered someone was holding his arm. Suddenly he couldn’t recalled who, or why. He twisted out of the loose grip, and took a step to the side, arms braced in front of him defensively. The noise surrounding him seemed to multiply and the air felt thick and tense. He took another step back and tripped over something, losing his balance. 

He felt someone grab him by the arm with heavy, firm grip that jarred his already rattled nerves. Charles’ reaction was lightening fast. Using the assailant’s grip to right himself, he proceeded to use his weight and inertia to launch into the body of the other figure, sending them both crashing back into something large and metal that came toppling down around them. 

Charles sprang up and quickly reached down to a small sheath he wore on his calf, and drew the knife that it contained. Wielding it protectively in front of him he hovered lightly on the balls of his feet, ready for another attack. But he didn’t expect it to come from behind. Evidently his assailant had crept around behind him and suddenly he felt himself being slammed to the ground by a heavy weight. He barely managed to squirm halfway around and sink the knife into flesh before his world exploded in a burst of static. 

When he came to he was aware of a woman crouching over him. Her voice was calm but her breathing was shaky. "Charles? Don’t move, okay. Do you know where you are?”

“The…. the conference… Backstage. Were we attacked? What happened?” It killed him not to know what was going on. “What happened?” he repeated more urgently, scrambling to his feet.

She steadied him with a hand. “Just come with me, everyone. We'll get this all sorted out." Her voice was tense. He could hear someone whimpering.

Moments later they entered a room and Abigail steered Charles to a chair and wordlessly indicated that he sit. He complied, still trying to piece together what had happened. The soft whimpering he had heard earlier had followed them and Charles finally recognized the voice.

"Toki! Are you okay? Is he okay? Someone needs to tell me exactly what is going on, now! Is the band all here? Are the premises secure?"

Toki sniffled but didn't reply. Charles could hear Skwisgaar say something to him in one of the Scandinavian tongues that they shared.

Abigail knelt down in front of Charles. She placed her hands on his knees and he felt her focus fully on him.

"Charles," she took a deep breath. "I don't know what happened back there but you... Um... You really kind of freaked out on us... And, um, attacked Nathan." There was an edge of exasperation to her voice. Charles shook his head, trying again to recall the time in question but it seemed so disconnected from the present.

"But we were attacked..." he started, grasping onto the now fuzzy memories that he could recall.

"Okay, Doods," Pickles interjected. "I'm no psychologist but I think I know what's going on. I used to jam with this guy who was in Nam, like the war, and every once in a while, during thunder storms and stuff, he would just lose his shit, I mean like go totally crazy on us. Cool guy though. So like, Charles, we weren't attacked, you just kind of flipped out... And stabbed Nathan, when he was... Ow, Nathan!" He stopped with a pained exclamation.

"When he was what?" Charles stood up forcefully, causing Abigail to spring back. "What the hell is going on?!"

It was Nathan's voice that continued quickly, "I just brought you out of your freak-out, okay. Is there a medic on the way?"

Charles was floored. HE had stabbed Nathan? Nathan had been "the assailant"? And what did Nathan do to HIM?

"Nathan, I ... Oh my god... I thought you were… someone else..." Charles trailed off.

"It's... Uh... It's fine. It's not the first time I've been stabbed. Just, um, forget about it..." Nathan seemed uncomfortable, like he wanted to change the subject but Charles couldn't ignore what had just happened. As he reached up to massage his aching temples he habitually fingered the sonar implants. The safety was off. 

Charles' confusion instantly flared into anger

"Did you activate them in order to take me out!?" The accusation was delivered slowly and sharply, each word dripping with venom. 

“You pulled a fucking knife on us and stabbed me in my fucking shoulder! The knife’s still there in case you were missing it. So yes, I did. It was either that or beat the shit out of you which I’m starting to wish I did.”

Charles glowered, feeling betrayed and violated. He sat back down, overwhelmed by what had just happened and everything he was taking in. Eventually he became vaguely aware of the medic that had arrived and was now working on Nathan's wound. When Nathan cried out and then bellowed a string of rather creative expletives, Charles could only guess that the knife had been removed and the wound cleansed with disinfectant. He was mostly right.

"Hey, that was perfectly good Vodka, Doctor Douchbag!" Pickles whined.

"And it fucking stings!!" Nathan howled. 

"Sorry sire, it seemed like time was of the essence and it was the closest thing on hand. It's done a fine job of cleaning the wound though."

"It would have done a better job of getting me drunk!" muttered the disgruntled drummer. 

"Now hold still, sire, while I wrap it." 

"Give me the knife," Charles demanded to the medic. He held out a hand to receive it.

There was a very uncomfortable silence. 

"Give it to me. And then we need to get out there and do what we came here to do." Just get it done, walk away and don’t look back.

"I don't think either of those things are wise..." Abigail interjected.

"You're not here to think, you're here to be my eyes!" Charles snapped angrily. 

There was a pause and he could hear murmurs from the surrounding band-mates. 

"I am here,” she started, and her voice was steel, “at your request, to see that things go as smoothly as possible today, for you AND for Dethklok as a whole. You just had a psychological breakdown and are in no position to deal with the public right now. And let me tell you, as your eyes, that Toki is borderline catatonic and Nathan isn't looking too presentable either. Bloody bandages are not a good look."

Ignoring her objections and, in part, because of her objections, Charles stood up, unclipped the black cane and extended it. He took a few small steps towards the door, feeling bodies shuffle out of his way in this tiny room as the cane swung towards them. He felt around for the door handle, all the while feeling staring eyes burning into his back. To Abigail’s credit she didn’t come after him or tell him to stop. 

Charles hesitated, as the haunting music started to lap over him once again, not yet drowned out by the increasingly agitated crown behind closed curtains. He had taken two small steps out of the doorway when his cane encountered a mess of fallen debris, presumably parts of the equipment that he and Nathan had toppled earlier. Further inspection revealed there were pieces wherever he checked.

He had spent so much of his life with Dethklok being passive but he had always been able to walk away. This had allowed him to maintain his dignity and composure, as well as the upper hand. Now he had been relegated to a life of reliance and if he knew tried to find his way through this mess of metal that he would be stepping back into the quicksand that had threatened to swallow him earlier. The memory of that turned his focus back on the song. He was starting to hear familiar patterns indicating that it was indeed a creation of Dethklok. He wondered where he had been when this new song came to be. Having holes drilled into his skull to insert a robotic device that had just been used against him? Re-learning how to do the simplest tasks without eyes? Or strapped to a metal table in a dank, acrid smelling chamber, staring at a light brighter than the sun, not knowing that that was the last thing he would ever see? He was pulled back to reality as the cane became lodged in some debris. It only took a moment to dislodge it but that last set-back was too much. Channeling all his anger and frustration he raised the cane over his head and brought it crashing down on the pile of metal that barred his way. There was a loud crack and Charles felt it snap. He stood there, breathing heavily, and threw down the now useless top half of the black cane.

“Change the song, now!” he barked, knowing that the nearby Gears would comply. They did, though they didn’t say anything, presumably keeping their distance after seeing what just happened. Almost instantly the deep rhythmic base-line of “I Ejaculate Fire” replaced the darker melody.

He stood there for a moment longer, wringing his empty hands. He hadn’t realized how accustomed he had grown to holding the cane.

“Hey… hey… it’s me…” Abigail’s voice came softly up from behind, followed by the shuffling of what seemed to be the whole band. She put a hand on Charles’s shoulder. It was followed by an unannounced hand on the other shoulder, but as Charles flinched Nathan quickly whispered “I’m here too. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Pickles voice spoke up. “I’ll go tell the audience what they need to know, then we can blow this joint. And I mean literally… ah fuck it, I’m gonna smoke it right now!”

The drummer’s footsteps bound away and were soon muffled by the roaring crowd that he greeted. Charles couldn’t hear what he said, but he imagined Pickles grinning crookedly, as he burst out on stage and delivering the news of the new album in between hits off his joint. The drummer was back in a matter of minutes, and the crowd sounded restless and unsure if it was over.

“Let’s go before they go back outside” Abigail said, kicking something aside to help the Gears who were busy making a clear path. As they filed out Charles heard Toki quietly say,

“Looks like the black canes amnst indestuctrouble afters all….” 

There were murmurs of concurrence and then nothing more was said.

 

**********


End file.
